Nothing's Wrong When Nothing's True
by nb41
Summary: Skye saves the new kid from some bullies during recess. That's how it starts.
1. Chapter 1

Trigger warnings for racism and ableism. **Spoilers for Agents of SHIELD Season 2 Episode 17**

In the Agents of SHIELD episode _Melinda_ , Skye talks about being at St. Agnes and losing friends as they came and went. In the Daredevil TV series, Matt Murdock is shown to be at St. Agnes for a period of time. Skye and Matt are probably close in age; he might be one to three years older than her. So they could have been there around the same time.

And so that's where this comes from. From the the descriptions and depictions of St. Agnes-orphanage + daycare + actual nuns in habits + small personal rooms-I'm imagining it as a fairly large combination church and boarding school and child care center sort of complex. This is entirely my own interpretation, and meant to stick with canon as closely as it can. I'm also playing a little fast and loose with Skye and Matt's ages, which is a stretch of canon but not intended to be divergent or AU.

* * *

They're not friends right away, because no one is friends with the 'crazy twitchy blind boy' (that's what Joey calls him, and everyone mostly goes along with it) whose room is at the very end of the hall that serves as the boys' dormitory. Everyone either avoids him or harasses him. At most, they yell at him. No one is friends with him.

He's a little older than Skye and he's blind, and this is the grand total of what she knows about him at first. As the days go by she learns more. He barely eats. He gets around with his walking stick when Gillian doesn't steal it, and by running his hands along the walls and railings when she does. He seldom ventures past the steps in the yard. He never plays with anyone. He just stares out at the world behind those glasses of his, silent and still in class and at recess. On occasion he's practically catatonic.

Some days he doesn't come out of his room at all, which Skye can sympathize with. She can't count how often she's wanted nothing more than to sit at her desk and read or draw or really do anything other than listen to Sara ask her for the hundredth time what country her parents were _really_ from.

("Asia," Becky says, and Skye snaps, "Asia's not a country." The outburst during class gets her detention, but it's worth it later when Becky can't list the countries which comprise Asia, and Skye _can_.)

On the days she doesn't see him in class or on the modest blacktop which serves as the orphanage playground she lingers by the flower boxes below the windows of the boys' floor, listening. She thinks she hears sobbing or broken bits of conversation, though she can't be sure. It could just be the city surrounding them or the kids at play. Between those two things random noises are common. But she wonders just the same.

* * *

Skye catches Gillian trying to steal his cane yet again one afternoon during lunch break and decides this time she's going to intervene. Sooner or later Gillian's going to use it on someone (instead of throwing it up in a tree like she usually does), and all things being equal Skye's a top candidate for first victim. So really, she's just trying to save herself some grief. The part where she's defending a boy one to two years older than her is entirely irrelevant.

They've cornered him at the back exit from the big school building, where the doors leading out of the two wings open onto a small patio garden that if not for the early spring flowers would be a study in gray bricks and green moss. A statue of St. Agnes and her lamb, probably once milky white but now streaked black with mildew, observes the proceedings. It's secluded back here, and unless a Sister happens to come out this way to water the flowers they won't be interrupted. Skye only discovers them because she likes to hide back here and spend her recess in peace, usually with a book.

She stands on tiptoe and peers out the west wing's back door window, then shoves the door open and marches out, announcing, "Let go."

Gillian looks surprised but undeterred. "Why? He'll just hit someone with it."

"He only hits the _ground_."

"I saw him hit Jeremy with it _yesterday_."

"That was an accident," the boy says, his voice strained. He's clinging to the handle of his cane with one hand and the wrought iron railing of the stairs leading down from the patio into the yard with the other.

"Jeremy probably just got in the way," Skye says. "I bet on purpose."

"Why would he do it on purpose?"

"So he'd have an excuse to be mean."

Becky—Gillian's brought her along as back up it seems—sneers, "We're supposed to turn the other cheek."

Skye has a theory about Gillian and Becky and decides now is as good a time as any to put it to the test. She says, "So turn your cheek and I'll take my best shot," and advances down the steps and towards them. Gillian releases her hold on the walking stick and scurries back.

"No you—no you won't. I'll tell Sister Loretta!"

Skye grins. She's always suspected Gillian was a coward, and being right makes her giddy. "And I'll tell her you were trying to steal his cane so you could beat him up with it." She glances back at the boy to make sure he's okay; he's sitting on the old, gray, brick steps, gripping the walking stick in both hands and leaning forward like he wants to curl up into a tiny ball.

Sounding desperate, Becky says, "She won't believe you!"

Skye turns her attention back to Gillian and Becky and raises her chin. "I bet she will." Gillian is in retreat, but Becky seems on the fence, so she adds, "Especially after I tell her who stole Sister Hope's grandmother's rosary."

Becky's eyes go saucer-wide. Gillian grabs her by the arm and bodily drags her away. Once they disappear around the corner of the building Skye heaves a sigh of relief and sits down next to the boy. He doesn't react, so she says, "You okay?"

He makes a sort of furtive gesture that might be a nod. She waits, because she suspects he's not going to react well to prying. Eventually, he says, "Were you really going to hit her?"

Skye snorts. "No. But she doesn't know that."

"Oh." He looks like he's thinking things over very carefully. "How did you know it was them?"

"Know what was them?"

"The rosary."

"I didn't. It was just a good guess."

"What if it hadn't been them?"

She shrugs, and when he doesn't do or say anything in response she squints at him. "Can you tell when someone does that?"

"Does what?"

"Shrug. Or nod or, you know, that stuff."

"Sometimes I can hear them move."

"Oh. Well, I just shrugged." He makes that same not-quite-a-nod movement again, and now she's curious. "Have you always been blind?"

"No. It was—" He swallows, and his hands grip the walking stick tight enough to make his knuckles go white. "No."

She's seen the 'I don't want to talk about that' reaction from enough other kids to know that she's not getting anything about it out of him, at least not today. "Got it," she says, and he relaxes a little. "I'd just tell them I had a way to make it look like it was them. And if that didn't work I'd start screaming for one of the Sisters."

He looks alarmed. "Wouldn't we get in trouble for fighting?"

She stops herself from shrugging again. "Only if I couldn't convince them Gillian started it. But I'm a pretty good liar."

He smiles weakly. He shoves his walking stick around in a crescent shape in front of them a few times, then asks, "How long have you been here?"

"All my life. I've gone to a couple of homes, but nothing's stuck."

"So you grew up here?"

"Yep." She bites her lip. "What's your name?"

He's a moment in responding. "Matt."

She takes one of his hands, which startles him, but before he can yank it back she shakes it once, firmly, and lets go. That hand forms into a fist for a few seconds, then he flattens it against his knee.

"I'm Skye," she says, making sure to sound as proud as possible.

His face screws up. "Skye?"

Reluctantly, she admits, "The Sisters call me Mary Sue," trying to inject as much nonchalance into the statement as possible. "But that's just the name they made up for me. Skye's the name _I_ picked."

"You can't pick your own name."

"Why not?"

He's very clearly engaged in an internal struggle over the very notion. "Because that's not—that's not where names come from."

"Well it's where _mine_ comes from."

"But it's not your _real_ name."

He's making her mad, but of course he can't see that, so she says (more loudly than she might otherwise), "Is so." He stills, looking taken aback, and she continues, "My real name is whatever I tell people it is."

His hands work as he grips the cane. "Oh."

They sit without talking for the rest of recess. Birds chirp from the trees surrounding the yard and the other kids yell and squeal as they play dodge ball. When the bell rings those excited shouts turn to complaints and the occasional accusation as everyone puts their things away and returns to the classrooms.

"Thanks," he says, and starts to get up, using the railing for additional support. She stands and hovers, ready to grab him if he has trouble, but he doesn't.

"Sure thing." She dusts off her hands vigorously so he can hear it. "But next time Kevin's pulling my hair you have to whack him in the shin. A good one, too."

He smiles. It's a devious smile, Skye thinks. Helping him out was a good idea.

"Okay," he says.


	2. Chapter 2

I don't recall that the Daredevil Episode 'Stick' actually made it clear how long Stick trained Matt, or under what circumstances (did Matt leave St. Agnes, etc.), so I made things up.

* * *

Matt's blind, so Skye expects things to be different with him, and this proves to be the case. By the second time they have lunch together she's worked out that touching him without asking is a really bad idea. At the end of that week they come to an agreement that if he wants help, he'll ask. Things are much smoother after that, and they fall into more regular patterns of getting to know one another. He tells her about his dad; she tells him about how she was dropped off with little to know information about her parents at all.

Once they're more comfortable as friends, Skye begins to suspect that there's more to him than meets the eye. Take, for example, how it's impossible to sneak up on him, or the way he can smell what's for lunch long before they've been called in for it. And he's really good at telling when she's lying. Like, _really_ good.

He doesn't accuse her of it often, yet he's bad at hiding his reactions, and eventually she realizes he can tell pretty much all the time.

"How do you do that."

"Do what?"

His fake innocence can be infuriating, though by now they've turned it into a game. "You know what I mean."

"No I don't."

"Yes you _do_."

"But what if I didn't?"

"You _do_ so that doesn't matter."

He smiles. "I don't know, I can just hear it in your voice. You're a bad liar."

"I'm not a bad liar, I got Sister Lupe to give me _two_ extra servings of tapioca last night. I am the _best_ liar."

"They don't have to use their ears as much as I do."

Skye isn't convinced this is the actual reason, even though it's completely true. "Can you teach me how to do it?"

"There's nothing to teach. You just, listen."

"For what?"

"For the way they talk. They use words differently. Their voices change. And..." He stops, either not wanting to say what else, or not knowing how to.

"Now who's the bad liar?" she says. He looks like he's trying to hide a smile. "For that, you're getting shoved." She pushes at his shoulder; he leans against the motion and taps out a pattern with his cane.

"It just sounds different," he says. Skye rolls her eyes even though he can't see her do it.

* * *

Matt has good days and he has bad days. The good days are fairly well defined by the two of them defending one another from whomever has decided to harass them, trying to sneak some extra dessert, and occasionally attempting to skip classes without getting caught. They're not very successful with the last two, but get pretty good at the first one.

The bad days can be pretty bad. On the worst ones she never sees him. She has to hide in closets and bushes and duck around a lot of corners to evade Becky and Gillian and Joey and Kevin. She listens by the flower boxes, and if his window is open calls up to him, and he never replies. The next morning he'll look exhausted and have big dark circles under his eyes. She doesn't want to pry (Matt _really_ hates prying) so she doesn't ask. One day he simply tells her.

"It's like I can hear everything."

"Everything?"

"Everything. All at the same time. Like a—like a lot of really loud TVs. And I can't make it stop."

They've taken that day's lunch dessert—oatmeal chocolate chip cookies, a little hard from over baking but still delicious and darkly sweet—to their usual spot on the patio garden steps. It's hot out save for places like here, where the shade of the old, stone building seems to store the cold especially for right now. Matt has his arms wrapped around his knees and is rocking himself back and forth. (His walking stick sits safely between them.)

Skye frowns. It's not uncommon for some of the kids to have nightmares and wake up shouting, though this sounds like something else. "Maybe you can put Kleenex in your ears."

"I tried that." He shakes his head, looking miserable. "It doesn't help."

"What did Sister Lupe say?"

"She says it's just nightmares." He sniffs and wipes his nose on his shirt sleeve. "It's not though. It's real."

She doesn't know what to say to that, so she just pushes the rest of her cookie into his hand. He takes it reluctantly, murmuring thank you, and nibbles at it. She spends the rest of recess reading to him from Wind in the Willows. It's a favorite of hers, and something they haven't been able to get for him in braille.

By the time the bell rings he's in better spirits. The next morning he's okay. Mostly.

* * *

It happens on a gray, hazy day, the kind which makes recess a chore rather than an escape. The clouds are threatening to drizzle, and if they make good on that threat the children will all be herded into the gym which reeks of the newly-donated vinyl mats and recently refinished wood floors. There's been a tension building among their age group, most of it coming from Kevin and Joey and their band of miscreants. She doesn't expect it to erupt the way it does though, with actual screaming and kids yelling and standing in a circle around Matt under the formless gray sky.

She gets pushed to the back of the crowd and has to worm her way through them to Matt. He's lying on the blacktop with his hands over his ears, trying to roll himself into the smallest shape possible. One half of his walking stick is on the ground next to him; the other is in one of Joey's hands.

She screams, "Stop it!" and shoves Joey hard enough to send him to the ground. He drops the piece of the cane in the process. The other boys shuffle back, looking uncertain.

Unlike in previous altercations, Matt doesn't get up. He doesn't even seem to know anyone else is there.

"Matt?" she says, though she keeps an eye on Joey and the others.

He speaks mostly into his arms, so it takes a second for her to puzzle it out. "Make it stop," he whispers. "Make them stop."

The other kids are murmuring to one another. "What's wrong with him?" Kevin mutters. He moves forward like he's going to kick him, and Skye gets in his way. She's not sure what she can do (Kevin's too big for her to push down, and anyways she doesn't have the drop on him like she did Joey) but she's more than ready to find out if it's called for.

Kevin stops and draws back. With another dirty look for all of them (a few of the kids won't meet her eyes now), Skye kneels down next to Matt. She shakes him on the shoulder.

"Hey. Matt. It's okay."

"We have to make it stop."

"Matt—"

" _Please_. Please make it stop."

He doesn't seem to know she's there, and that's terrifying. She chokes back tears and tries to hold him, but it's hard, because he keeps rolling back and forth.

"Told you he was crazy," Joey says. He's back on his feet and looks like he's spoiling for a fight, and Skye thinks she might just be up for giving him one. A real one, for the first time in her life.

She never gets to find out if she would have.

" _What_ is going on here," Sister Loretta bellows, her voice thunderous and implacable. It's hard to fathom how she's snuck up on everyone, and yet she's on them in a moment, and the gathered children don't dare flee now that she's seen them. Kevin and Joey shrink back in abject terror. Skye's growing anger dies like a snuffed out candle.

"I don't know," Skye says. Matt's stopped moving; now he's just shaking and whispering to himself. "They, they took his walking stick and broke it and he—he—"

"She hit me!" Joey says, pointing at Skye.

"I pushed you because because you were hurting him!" she shouts back. Matt twitches, and Skye regrets raising her voice immediately.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," she says. Matt doesn't seem to hear her.

"Stop it," the Sister Loretta snaps, "both of you. Mary, let Sister Lupe take him."

Sister Lupe steps between the children and kneels next to Matt and Skye. She gives Skye a sympathetic smile and starts murmuring gently to Matt in Spanish. Matt doesn't react to her any more than he did Skye.

Skye's breath comes short. She can feel she's seconds from bursting into tears. "But—"

" _Now_ , Mary Sue."

Sister Loretta is a terrifying woman when she's in a temper, and is she ever right now, so Skye lets go of Matt and stands up. Once she's moved away he curls up into himself even tighter, and it's all Sister Lupe can do to coax him to his feet. Yet where Sister Loretta is fire and brimstone, Sister Lupe is grace and comfort personified, and she manages it eventually.

Sister Loretta gives everyone detention for watching the fight rather than calling for one of the Sisters, and Joey and Kevin and Skye two extra days of it each. It's a blessing, in a way, since now Skye's not at recess and so doesn't have to put extra effort into avoiding them or Becky and Gillian.

The whole time there's no sign of Matt—not in class, nor at breakfast or lunch or dinner—not anywhere.

* * *

The day Skye's detention ends is also the day the old man arrives. He's an old, withered-looking sort of person, and escorted by the Mother Superior herself. She's not often seen around the boarding school, since her work administering St. Agnes keeping her at the offices on the far end of the grounds in the Seminary building, so this is a sure sign things are serious.

Skye watches the proceedings from around corners and through cracked-open doors, skulking in between classes and listening intently at Matt's bedroom window. At first all the man does it talk to Matt, and Matt makes no reply. Then eventually he starts to respond, and in an hour or so Matt calms down enough that the man takes him for a walk. They come back late in the afternoon, and the man and Sister Hope go to an empty classroom to converse.

She slips down the hall and peers into Matt's room, but he's not there, and neither are any of his things. In a panic she runs outside, checking all over. She finds him sitting on the steps of the patio garden.

" _Here_ you are," she says, and plops down next to him.

His mouth twitches in a weak smile. "You're going to get in trouble for ditching math again."

She shrugs and says, "Whatever."

He actually smiles now. Neither of them says anything for a few minutes, though Skye wants to. Her chest aches with wanting to say something, even though she has no idea what would be worth saying.

Matt uses his walking stick to fling a small rock into the far bushes. "I'm leaving."

She'd already guessed that, but it feels like that time Becky kicked a soccer ball into her stomach to hear him really say it. "With that old guy?"

"Yeah. His name's Stick."

" _Stick_?"

"Yeah."

"What kind of name is _Stick_."

Matt's voice turns sly. "Like you can talk."

She thinks she can't shove him for that since the other day is still too fresh and raw, for both of them, and so kicks at a rock of her own instead. "Is he going to be your dad?"

Matt's expression goes flat like it does when he doesn't want to reveal anything about what he's feeling. "I don't know. Maybe? He's going to teach me, though."

"Teach you what?"

"A lot of things."

Skye frowns. "So you won't be in school anymore?"

"I'm not sure. Probably not, though."

He sounds unsure about the entire thing. Skye swallows. "Do you _want_ to go?"

"Yeah," Matt says. "I want to go. He might not...he can't be my dad. But he can take care of me. Help me learn how to..."

"How to what?"

He has that look her gets, the one where he wants to describe something but doesn't know the right words. Then he startles and stands up. Before she can ask what's wrong, he says, "They're coming. You should go, or Sister Lupe'll see you."

"How do you—"

"Hurry," he hisses. Sure enough, Skye can now hear the older woman's gentle, Hispanic accent and the tap-tap-tap of the man's walking stick.

"Hug," she says, and pulls him into a quick one. He returns it awkwardly, then scrambles down the steps as best he can. He pauses at the bottom, turns, and waves, either in goodbye or urging her to go.

Sister Lupe's shadow is looming around the corner. "Bye," Skye whispers, and she slips into the west wing, careful to close the door behind her quietly. She bolts down the hall and out the side exit; from there it's a quick dash between the bushes into the neighboring building where her math class is held. She slips into the girl's bathroom for a minute, though, because she's started to cry, and she's not going into the classroom with tears in her eyes.

Taking the time to clean her face in the sink is worth it. Sister Regina is only a little put out by Skye's tardiness to class and just urges her to take a seat.

Matt isn't there at dinner, and the next morning a new boy is in his room. Skye goes to a foster home a couple of weeks later. It lasts a little longer than previous placements, though not by much. She's back at the orphanage for a spell and then off to another family within two weeks. This will be the pattern which will last until she's eighteen.

In one of her stays back at St. Agnes she hears Matt returned less than a year later and was whisked off to another home shortly there-after. That one apparently sticks, because she never hears of him coming back in her future stays. She looks him up when she gets out on her own, though can never quite bring herself to email him, and once she becomes involved in Rising Tide thinks it's no longer a good idea. There's no need to drag someone she knew for a year when she was ten into all of that.

It will be over fifteen years before she sees him again.


End file.
